USUK Drabble Calendar: February 2014
by 365daysofUSUK
Summary: A drabble a day keeps you in USUK! The file for the USUK Drabble Calendar, the month of February in the year of 2014.
1. February 1

**AUTHOR: **empressvegah

**February 1st, 2014 - Saved the Best for Last**

"Man, Artie, I really think she's the one," Alfred sighed one day while invading Arthur's living room, specifically his couch. His head was on Arthur's lap while his best friend of eleven years was reading a book, probably one of those classics he was never interested in. He glanced up at his mobile phone, the picture of a platinum blonde girl with a white bow on her head, lovely deep blue eyes, and a somber yet beautiful expression on her face was staring back at him. He sighed again and thrust the device to his best friend's face. "Just look at her! Ain't she pretty, Artie?"

Arthur moved his face away from the phone, narrowing his eyes at the image reflected on the screen. "Isn't she… Natalya? Ivan's sister?"

Alfred glanced up only to see Arthur visibly shudder. "Step-sister. You don't think she's pretty?" He asked, sounding hurt, and he suddenly got up from his comfortable place on Arthur's lap and moved even closer to Arthur's face to mock-glare at him. He saw the shorter blond turn red and stuttered, "N-no! It's not like that, I, uh, just don't like Ivan that much."

Alfred visibly relaxed nodded in understanding, still not moving away from his invasion of Arthur's personal space. "Neither do I, but I can't just pass up this chance, because she might be the one," he exclaimed, then flopped back down on Arthur's lap. "Artie, you gotta meet her sometime. She's really great! She moves so fluidly, and her eyes just pull me to her."

"That's what you said the last time too, and the one before that," Arthur answered stiffly, turning a page of his book. He had this conversation with Alfred for the last year, and the git was so hopeful each time, he almost didn't have the heart to put him down. But he had to. This was going on for far too long, and the man had never found that one person whom he would spend his life with. The idiot on his lap just wanted someone he could share everything with, from his joy, to his sadness, to his achievements, and failures. Just someone he could share his life with, and who would want him regardless of the ups and downs of their lives. This insufferable, hopeless romantic fool.

Alfred abruptly got up from his favorite perch on Arthur's lap and exclaimed, "Artie! I just can't wait anymore, I gotta see her! And see you later!" And just like that, he went off. Arthur looked at the retreating back with longing, and once the door was slammed close, he closed his eyes and sighed. "You dense idiot," he muttered dejectedly, "Why can't you see what's right in front of you?"

USUK

It was already late and the rain was pouring heavily outside. Arthur just had dinner and was about to put the plates away when someone knocked. He wondered who was knocking persistently against his door. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see a drenched Alfred, and concern immediately blossomed in his chest. "Alfred, what – why are you so wet!" He pulled him in and guided him to the bathroom where the towels were kept. Taking one, he tossed it over Alfred's head and started drying his hair off. "Why in the blazes are you walking late at night in this heavy rain? It won't be good for you if you get sick. No one's in your home to take care of you," he scolded, but when he slid off the towel from Alfred's head, he saw a look on his face that spoke volumes of heartbreak.

It was the look Arthur was far too acquainted with.

"Oh, Alfred," he pulled the man into his arms, uncaring of the wet clothes that soaked his dry ones. They stood there for a moment, Arthur holding Alfred's head against his shoulder – even if Arthur had to tiptoe a bit to pull Alfred against him – while the taller man clung to his shirt.

"Artie, I… I'm so stupid. I honestly believed she's the one, but she's… she's… she's just using me to make Ivan jealous," Alfred finally admitted what happened for the past week, and Arthur felt another pang in his chest upon hearing how Alfred really believed in his happy ending. It hadn't been over two weeks since Alfred told him about Natalya, but the pain his best friend was feeling was real. But sometimes, Arthur couldn't help but wonder if Alfred would stop hurting if he was the one the insufferable git would love.

Arthur invited Alfred to spend the night in his home, and he did his best to distract him from the pain he was feeling by entertaining him with movies and junk food and anything he knew Alfred liked. He even allowed Alfred to sleep on his bed beside him, knowing just how clingy his best friend was whenever he was hurting. When morning came, the American squeezed Arthur, which made the shorter man blush red – he didn't want to imagine how his mornings would be if Alfred was with him like this.

His best friend left looking better than he was before, and a bittersweet smile graced Arthur's lips. As long as Alfred was happy, then he would be, too.

* * *

Three months passed before Alfred invaded Arthur's living room again, specifically his couch. His head was still on Arthur's lap, and this time, the shorter man was embroidering. "Arthur," he began, his tone a bit on the serious end, and Arthur stopped what he was doing to look down at Alfred. "What is it, Alfred?" He never called him Arthur unless it was something grave. His heart sped up.

"I found the one I would spend my life with," Alfred began, his eyes never leaving Arthur's green ones. The Englishman's throat went dry. _No, not again_. Alfred reached for his mobile and tapped the screen to life. He showed it to Arthur, his eyes betraying his anxiety. Arthur looked down at the phone and gasped.

His picture was smiling back at him.


	2. February 2 (Flowers For Days)

**Flowers for Days **

Monday Arthur had had a rough day, with snippy, pissy customers calling in and complaining at him for things he had no control over. He couldn't always fix what he hadn't enacted, but then that was his job, wasn't it? If management would just- An irritated sigh quickly turned relaxed and dreamy as he found a fresh bundle of simple daisies at his doorstep as he stepped up the path to his home. Simple, but lovely. Well... Work had been awful, but maybe his whole day wasn't shot, he mused with a hidden smile as he stepped inside to relax over his evening.

Tuesday wasn't quite so bad, especially since he'd woken to those flowers at his bedside. He'd have to get one of those pressed while they still looked so lovely.

His day went on and he'd stepped out at lunch for a quick escape from the office, coming back inside with a warm drink in hand to stave off the cool air outside. When he returned to his office he found a small, lovingly tied bunch of forget-me-nots left at his desk. And maybe it was cold outside, but he was suddenly feeling very warm and loved. He scanned the short note left beside them and spent the rest of his day trying to force 'Baby it's cold outside' out of his head, to no avail. Damn that man and his choice of music. Completely out of season! (But there was no use pretending he didn't find it endearing.)

A muddy Wednesday left him looking for his flowers, disappointed when he'd gotten through his whole day, clear until dinner with nothing but slop cakes to his shoes, which he'd had to wipe off the tile by the door. Maybe he'd forgotten...? But no, whenever Arthur pulled on his shoes and reluctantly went to check his mail later that evening he found a single, sweet smelling rose, slightly wilted for waiting there for him all day. Arthur went to bed with a smile and a simple heart cut from red paper used as his bookmark, smelling of the flower.

It was a carnation on his front step that pulled him through Thursday, helping him deal with the frozen mud and spitting snow, and a rainy Friday greeted the start of the weekend with a full bunch of tulips left in the same spot that evening. But Saturday, Saturday he had a plan.

Saturday morning Alfred woke up around ten to his alarm and someone knocking on his door. With a groan he drug himself from bed and the tangle of blankets, rumpled and sleep fluffed. He answered the door wearing his boxers and an equally rumpled shirt, blinking as he found a large bouquet was knocking at his door. He blinked again as said knocking bouquet moved, the person holding it planting a firm kiss on his lips and slid inside as if he owned the place. When Alfred realized who it had been he realized that they very nearly did.

With a wide, sleepy smile he closed the door and trailed behind the flowers like a puppy, soon left with his kitchen table lovely as could be. They ended up on the couch, tangled to the point that it wasn't clear where Alfred stopped and Arthur began.

"You've got morning breath," he muttered.

"That's what you get for waking me up," Alfred teased in return before turning away to yawn.

Arthur refused to kiss more than his cheek until he brushed his teeth, which coaxed Alfred out of Arthur's hold for a short time. He returned with all the blankets from his bed and fresh minty, breath. Saturday and Sunday were spent wrapped in blankets and each other, watching terrible movies and sometimes just enjoying the silence that came with comfortable company.

Sometimes Alfred had ridiculous and elaborate plans, ones that belongs in some romantic comedy, but they knew how one another worked and Arthur had clearly understood what Alfred had been hoping to achieve. And when could he say no to a weekend of his loving company, ever, especially with a floral invitation?


	3. February 3

The room was cold and unwelcoming save for the space of warmth the two lovers had created entangled under the heavy sheets. Sunlight beamed down onto the building, searching out weaknesses in the walls so it could deliver it's waking call to the two residents.

America let out a low groan when he woke up, squeezing his eyes shut when they were immediately assaulted by the penetrating light of the early morning sun. He quickly retreated his arm back under the warmth of the covers, out of the reach of the chilly air. Shuddering in the chill, his arms wrapped around his bed partner to attempt to generate more heat.

His shuffling had the knock-on effect of waking the man sleeping with him, who had his arms wrapped around America with his head resting against the American's chest. Said person tightened his hold of the larger man, shuffling slightly as he tried to find a way to catch a few more minutes of sleep before his boisterous American lover would force them both up.

Alfred smiled tiredly down at the Brit, using one of his large hands to rub slow, soothing circles into the small of the older nation's back.

"Stop moving, go back to sleep." England slurred, half his face squashed against the American's broad chest, thick eyebrows furrowing when his lover used a hand to brush his fringe away from his face. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to try and get the blurriness that clouded his eyes to leave.

"Can't, I'm awake now." America smiled down at the older nation, shifting so that he was sitting more upright, ignoring the resistance from the Brit who tried to cling on. "I'm getting up, I need to brush my teeth."

"Fine, just don't let the cold air in." The Englishman replied, albeit slightly grumpily, before releasing him and rolling to face his back towards the American.

England finally relaxed into the mattress again, eyes closing as he tried to catch a few more minutes of sleep. He shuffled over into the warm area the American had once occupied, sighing in contentment as he began to drift back to sleep. The feeling of the duvet being pulled out from under him and a sudden blast of cold air to his back had him jumping up as he let out a slightly girlish gasp of surprise.

"What, like that?" America laughed as his British lover glared at him with murderous intent. America lifted the duvet up once again and smirked at the smaller man with one eyebrow arched, challenging him with his gaze, only to be rebuffed when the Brit simply huffed at him.

England rolled his eyes, recognising the childishness for what it what, before grabbing the rest of the covers and successfully creating a cocoon around himself.

"Come on, don't be boring!" America whined, attempting to grab at the covers and pull them off, but to no avail as the fabric slipped through his fingers.

"Leave me alone." England groaned listlessly when he felt the American's weight come to rest gently above him. He twisted his body around so that he was lying on his back, glaring at his lover half-heartedly.

America laughed under his breath, before leaning down to hover his face closely over his lovers, his breath ghosting across the Englishman's lips.

"I'll leave you alone if you give me a good morning kiss." America smirked, grinning down at the older nation when he heard the Brit groan at his cheesiness. England could have sworn that had America been a dog, his entire back end would be wagging as the younger nation grinned cheerfully at him. He had no idea how the young nation could be so wide awake in the morning, the most the Brit could do was quickly flick on the kettle before he soon retreated back into the sheets.

England realised the American was still smiling at him, albeit slightly awkwardly, he sighed before quickly leaning up and giving America a short kiss, not expecting the American to lean down to continue it. The pair's slow movements continued for some time, during which England's hands eventually found themselves tangled in the American's dirty blonde locks.

America pulled away when he felt England pushing at his shoulders, breathing slightly heavier as he tried to get his breath back, he smiled back up at the American.

"Go and brush your teeth, you have got morning breath." The American leaned back down to once again capture his lips, barking with laughter when he pulled back and noticed the Englishman's grimace.

"Love you too, England."


	4. February 4

**AUTHOR: **briaranise-star

**February 4th, 2014**

The heavy rain streaked across the windscreen almost too quickly for the wipers to clear it away. Thunder rumbled overhead, drowning out the sounds of the radio. Alfred sighed, flicking through his pre-set stations before turning it off.

"Babe..." He risked a glance at his passenger but quickly returned his gaze to the road. "You can't ignore me forever, you know."

Arthur steadfastly stared out of the window, his arms folded across his chest and his brow furrowed. At least he wasn't scowling, Alfred thought. Arthur's scowls were usually accompanied by furious shouting. Frowns were something that Alfred could deal with, but this strange, cold silence was making him both nervous and frustrated.

"I thought you were having fun tonight," he tried again helplessly, squinting at the car in front of them as it slowed to a halt. "The guys all liked you..."

Arthur merely turned his whole body away, stubbornly remaining silent. The rain continued to pound down on the car, and Alfred felt his frustration peak. They'd been dating for all of two months, so he'd thought it was time to introduce Arthur to his friends. The guys had been nothing but friendly for the entire evening, so he had no idea what Arthur's problem was.

He really didn't like getting the silent treatment, though.

"Seriously," he began, trying to sound firm, "babe—"

"Don't call me that!" Arthur snapped, finally turning to face him. His frown was quickly turning into a scowl and Alfred desperately tried to backpedal.

"Okay, I won't call you that—but why? I mean, I've been calling you that all night, and you didn't say anything..." he trailed off as the traffic began to inch forward again, but they didn't get far before stopping once again. "But... just tell me why you're mad at me. Okay? I love you, but I have no idea why you're mad."

Arthur huffed and turned to look out of the window again.

"Ba—Arthur—I'll even admit to being wrong, okay? I'm wrong. All right? So tell me what the hell I'm wrong about."

At that, Arthur seemed to hunch over defensively. He was silent for a long moment, before he murmured, "since when did I stop being 'sweetheart'?"

"Huh?" Alfred glanced over, confused. He could see Arthur's expression reflected in the window, and he wanted to do anything to wipe that lost look from his beloved's face. "You never stopped. You're still my sweetheart. What are you talking about?"

"Why did you feel the need to call me 'babe' tonight, then? Did you want to look less sappy in front of your friends? Did you want to make our relationship seem more superficial?" His words lacked any real bite, instead sounding strained and upset.

"What? No!" Alfred reached over to grab Arthur's hand and squeezed it gently. "No, that's not it. That's not it at all." He hesitated for a moment, before continuing. "It's just... the guys, they said 'sweetheart' sounds so... old. They said I should change things up to keep you interested. Hence, 'babe'. But... if you wanna be 'sweetheart'..."

"You're an idiot," Arthur announced, sounding torn between being angry and being flustered. His cheeks were rapidly becoming an endearing shade of pink, and the angle of his brows was becoming less severe by the second. "But... I do like 'sweetheart'."

"C'mere then, sweetheart." Alfred made sure that his foot was firmly on the brake pedal before leaning over and kissing Arthur gently. They continued to kiss, closed-mouthed and chastely, until the sound of horns blaring from behind broke them apart.


	5. February 5 (The AK Special)

**AUTHOR** - dragons-dumpling

**February 5th, 2014 - The A.K. Special**

Arthur never liked coffee. He just liked to stay with his tea and kept away from any means of coffee. Very far away. Even though the Brit liked to keep his distance from the caffeinated drink, the world seemed to think otherwise. Everywhere Arthur went, there is a Starbucks. Starbucks here. Starbucks there. It was literally everywhere.

"Honestly, Arthur, you have to try it at least once!" his friend Francis coaxed the Englishman. "You're like an old man now, drinking that tea of yours."

"Nope. Not doing it. Not now, not ever. Never," Arthur stated clearly and ended that conversation. But Francis had a point. Coffee shops don't serve tea anymore, and even if they do, it's not a wide variety. He honestly was getting tired of the little to no variety of teas most coffeehouses served. Plus, the way they make it tastes bad. So after a long time of thinking and persuasion, he decided to get with the modern times and try out some coffee. As much as Arthur loathed the level to which he stooped, it's got to work, right?

Arthur was fortunate to drive over to the nearest Starbucks when there was almost no one in the shop. Satisfied that he chose the right time, he parked his car and made his way into the renowned coffeehouse.

"Welcome to Starbucks!" exclaimed a voice from behind the counter. A head of wheat blond hair and cerulean eyes met Arthur's line of vision. He certainly looked like a charismatic fellow, Arthur noted. The male looked to be younger than the Brit himself. Walking the short distance from the door to the counter was easy. Now comes the hard part. What could he drink? Ordering from the menu looked to be a challenge; the Englishman has never tried all these brews before. He just wanted boring, old coffee, not this monstrosity.

"What would you like to order?" inquired the lad from before as he glided to the cashier to take Arthur's order. "Um…yes, I'd like…" Arthur paused. What would he like? The question lingered as he tried to quickly come up with an answer before it was too late. While he was scanning the menu, a word catches his eye. A latte wouldn't be so bad, right? "…a nonfat latte please." Arthur finished his sentence. It wasn't as horrible as he had imagined. 'What size, sir?" the American inquired. There are sizes to coffee? Arthur began to panic as he replied, "S-size? What sizes are there?" The cashier smiled as he responded, "There are three; tall, grande and venti." The Brit repeated those words before he could answer, "Grande, please." Punching in some numbers, the American repeated Arthur's order, "Okay, so one grande nonfat latte, right?" Arthur had one more request before he could agree to the order, "Extra hot."

"Extra hot? Won't you burn your tongue?" the American, named Alfred (Arthur glanced at the name tag), questioned.

"That's just what I'd like to do," he deadpanned back.

"Alrighty then," Alfred said with a shrug. "Name please?"

"Arthur Kirkland," the Brit answered. The hard part was done, Arthur sighed and congratulated himself. He paid for his drink and now, he's waiting for it by the café chairs.

"A.K. Special for Arthur K.!"

A.K. Special? Is that mine? The Englishman asked himself, puzzled at the name of his order. He stood up from his seat and went to pick up his order. Alfred was there, waiting for him as he advanced towards the pick-up counter. "Here's your drink," the American started off as the extra hot drink was passed to Arthur, "come again soon!" I'll probably never come back, the Brit scoffed as he exited the building. Yup, he was certain he'd never return after that experience.

Arthur never expected himself to come back so soon, let alone at all. He ended up coming every week and the Brit couldn't figure out why. Instinctual urges, he assumed as he trudged into his car after work and drove off to the same Starbucks for the third time this month. Getting out of his car, the Englishman noticed that the place is unusually full today. The Brit gave in irritated sigh as he slammed his car door and made his way into the coffee shop. The small space that was the shop was almost crammed with people moving around. After some time, he finally found the queue and stood behind the last person. It took an awful long time and Arthur's patience was running thin. When the Englishman finally waited his way to the counter, he discovered that there was a fresh, hot drink waiting for him. He looked up to see who the cashier was and met the familiar shade of cerulean.

"Hey there, Art. That'll be $3.95!" the American smiled as he slid the drink towards Arthur. The Brit sat down at a vacant café seat and began to consume his drink after paying, of course. Having nothing better to do, Arthur turned the cup to where his name is usually written and was confused as to why there are more words than just his name and "The A.K. Special". This sparked a sense of curiosity of what Alfred could've written. Arthur began to try and decipher the American's messy handwriting:

"Let's meet up sometime 3 XXX-XXXX"

The Brit felt his face heat up as he quickly turned his head to find that Alfred had been waiting for his reaction. The other gave a grin as he winked and motioned with his hand to make the "call me" sign. Face flushed, Arthur stood up from his seat and left the coffeehouse as quickly as he could, unlocking his car door soon after. A few minutes of intense debating later ensued. The Englishman fished out his phone and dialed the number on the coffee cup. Three rings later, a cheerful voice greeted Arthur. "_Yello_?" asked the familiar voice of Alfred.

With a defeated sigh, Arthur managed out, "W-when does your shift end?"


	6. February 6 (And All That Jazz)

**AUTHOR:** thisgirlfromnowon

**February 6th - And All That Jazz**

He walked into the club with cool eyes in contrast to the scene before him. The room was hot with sweaty bodies that moved closer and closer together as the music guided their steps. Heels clicked and leather shoes scuffed the floor as short skirts and suit jackets were in vibrant motion. The brass blared over the lovely harmony of the woodwinds and the energetic swing beat that drove the dancers on.

His sharp, collected steps took him toward the crowded bar; he only took his cigarette out long enough to order his drink before taking another long, refreshing drag. But upon exhaling, he saw a pair of eyes bright enough to jolt him out of complacency. Such a wondrous kind of blue that belonged to a true work of art; he was alive and in motion, dancing so marvelously to the sounds of swing. Arthur had never felt much for the genre until this moment, but this man was jazz.

The aforementioned Adonis gave him a seductive smile before disappearing once more into the matrix of dancers. Arthur promptly forgot about his drink before entering the crowd in search of that lovely, golden man.

It was love at first dance and it was glorious.


	7. February 7

**ARTIST: **chiaramelacarne

For the art, go to the livejournal or tumblr under this URL

**AUTHOR: **kelsey-loves-tea

**February 7th, 2014**

**1 is for the apartment they shared.**

Alfred could remember the day they moved in together. It was pouring outside and everything was soggy. Arthur was beyond upset. Nearly every one of his boxes were damp and ripping down the sides. Alfred thought it was funny, really their luck, but Arthur didn't find it so. He was pissed about the mud they were tacking through their apartment and the mess they made in their home. But every time Arthur complained, Alfred couldn't help but smile wider. Because it wasn't, Arthur's or his own apartment; it was theirs. And that pronoun couldn't have made him happier.

**2 is for Alfred's favorite season; winter.**

Alfred always loved the winter. He'd tell anyone who asked it was because of the holiday or the snow. It was because of the nasty fruitcakes Arthur's parents sent that Alfred gladly ate down. Or the smell of the peppermint tea that Arthur started to taste like. He'd tell them it was because of Arthur's special cocoa that never failed to make him feel better, but it wasn't. Truth be told, Alfred hated the snow and the cold. He really only cared for the winter for one thing: Arthur loved to cuddle to stay warm. Before the winter, it was rare for the Brit to want to cuddle other than when they were in bed. But during, Alfred would find the smaller man huddled close to him, or hell, even in his lap. Alfred loved to be able to have a willing Arthur to cuddle. Arthur would sigh happily and snuggle into him more. They would lay sprawled close to one another on the sofa, or pressed together in one of the lounging chairs as they watched the telly. Alfred couldn't think of another way he wanted to spend winter but wrapped up in Arthur. Thankfully, Alfred didn't have to think.

**3 is for the nights they ate alone**.

It wasn't like he hated Arthur's cooking completely. He'd pick and tease, only to get a second plate (a third or fourth if Arthur made his stew). But today was one of the nights Arthur would work late at the office. Alfred would whine and groan. Trying his hardest to wait for the Brit to get home to eat, but not lasting due to his stomach. Of course that would normally lead the American to go eat out, something he started to mind. It never tasted as good as the shit Arthur would push onto his plate. Or as savory as when they eat the greasy food out together. Alfred knew Arthur hated working late and would rather be home with him. But work wouldn't allow it. Al would buy Arthur a stupid meal from where ever he went to pick up food (or on the rare occasion he cooked- a plate). Arthur would grumble in the morning about the cold food, but Alfred knew better. Arthur appreciated the thought, both wishing they could eat together every night.

**4 is the amount of kisses they share before work**

Arthur huffed. "Al, I need to go," he said as he quickly whirled around the room, trying to pull on his clothing. Smoothing his tie, wrinkled as it was, against his chest. He yelped as Alfred pulled him back into one more kiss. Arthur tried to frown (he really did, but he couldn't). He stopped his hands and wrapped them into Alfred's shirt, pulling him in closer. He deepened the kiss before he pulled back. Alfred rested his forehead against Arthur's.

"Stay," he nearly begged, but Arthur shook his head. "Skip work with me!" He whined like a annoying child. Arthur, of course, could only hold out for so long. Another kiss here, a loving touch there, and soon enough his suit was on the floor.

**5 is for the extra minutes in bed Arthur needs every morning.**

Sadly, no matter how much Arthur said it was Alfred who made them oversleep, it was truly himself. He liked to blame Alfred, most of the times others would believe it. They would agree the child-like American wouldn't keep time and cause the two to be late to anything: work, parties, dinner plans and the like, but really it was Arthur. The Brit liked those lazy days where he got to lay in bed, and most cases Alfred was up before the older male. Arthur, however, slept in more than he'd ever admit. He was the one who hit the snooze alarm four (sometimes five) times before he finally got dressed in a hurry, making sure to smooth out his clothing before he left. Alfred always found it adorable, but he never failed to have Arthur's mug and lunch were packed before the man left.


	8. February 8 (Skipping the Queue)

**AUTHOR: **crashingavalanches

**February 8th, 2014 - Skipping the Queue to your Heart**

Arthur hated queues.

His mother had always taught him that being a gentleman meant that he was not at liberty to complain at any given circumstance, no matter how desperate he was. However, he was tempted to break that code and just rage about the poor service at his favourite café.

The long line in front of him was not moving at all.

He clamped his teeth lightly down on the skin on the inside of his cheek and tapped his foot on the floor in an incessant rhythm. He needed his morning tea, if not he would remain in his cranky stage forever. He pressed his lips together and tilted his head slightly to catch a glimpse of the staff at the counter.

There were many reasons why this café was frequented by Arthur and had made it into his top ten cafes around the area where he lived. One of the reasons was, of course, the great tea they brewed and served. The other reason was a honey blonde barista with electric blue eyes and coincidentally had a dazzling smile with an extremely hot body.

He only knew that his last name was Jones, because that was what the Norwegian owner of the café called him; he also knew that Jones was not a full time employee and only worked the morning shift on Wednesdays and the afternoon and evening shifts on weekends. He also happened to know that Jones was American, knew how to brew great coffee and tea, and was had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

To Arthur, he was perfect.

Not many people knew that the second youngest son of Kirkland Enterprises batted for the other team, but it wouldn't come across as a surprise, seeing that his oldest brother Allistor had openly told the media that he preferred men. It definitely didn't stop him from openly checking out Jones' fine ass either.

"'sup dude, here for your usual?"

Arthur flinched as he blinked rapidly into clear blue eyes, unconsciously taking a step backwards out of shock. There he was, perfection right in front of Arthur, dressed in the clean uniform that all baristas of the café wore, leaning slightly on the banister that indicated the direction of the queue. Jones tilted his head on one side, holding Arthur's gaze for an intense moment before raking his eyes down Arthur's form. The Englishman was speechless as the barista watched him for a while silently before smacking his lips.

"Here."

Pulling out his other arm from behind his back, Jones handed Arthur his usual order: Earl Grey with extra milk and no sugar. Arthur blinked again before taking a hesitant step forward. Did Jones really just talk to him, check him out openly and hand him his regular order in the past five minutes? He reached for the plastic cup with a shaking hand, the other clutching his files and wallet to his chest.

"Hey, no need to be afraid, I ain't gonna hurt you," scoffed Jones before flashing that utterly gorgeous dazzling smile that turned Arthur's insides into a pile of goo and make his knees nearly give way right there. He shook his head before reaching for his wallet.

"U-uhh thank you very much for your help, I need to pay you, don't I? So just let me g—"

"It's fine, there's no need to pay up," Jones waved the matter of payment aside like it was a fly and leaned in closer to Arthur, watching his face intently while the corners of his lips and eyes curled up in a smirk. Reaching out, he grabbed Arthur's arm and pulled him so that their noses were touching, and Arthur felt like he was going to die from both the excitement and the embarrassment. However, nobody seemed to be paying attention to them, all grumbling about the poor service going on at the moment.

"Go out with me, Arthur Kirkland."

Arthur's breathing hitched as he stared into the blue eyes that he had dreamed of every night, and his body just froze right there. He barely registered as Jones' warm hand wrapped around his free wrist and closed his fingers around the cup containing his tea. Entranced by those charismatic blues, he could only stare stupidly as the American stepped away from him, the smirk still intact on his perfect face.

"Gotta get to work now, so just call me, will you?"

Just like that he was gone, and Arthur vaguely registered people pointing at his tea and muttering something about rich gay businessmen seducing good looking straight people. He shot a glare at the crowd and stepped outside the café quickly before looking at his cup. There was something written on it with bold strokes and from the looks of it, a black Sharpie.

_Alfred F. Jones. Call me!_

There was a phone number written on it too, and Arthur couldn't help smirking as his ride pulled up in front of him and the window was rolled down.

"Arthur? That took you quite a while, get in before Allistor starts complaining about the lack of whiskey in the limo again," Dylan, his second older brother frowned as he noticed the dreamy look on his brother's face. "Is something the matter?"

"It's nothing," Arthur smirked before pulling open the door and seating himself beside Dylan, grinning widely at his brother.

"I guess I got more than my usual today."


	9. February 9 (Sky and Earth)

**AUTHOR: **obscure-fandom-lurker

**February 9th, 2014 - Sky and Earth**

_"Some people meet the way the sky meets the earth, inevitably, and there is no stopping or holding back their love. It exists in a finished world, beyond the reach of common sense."_

- Louise Erdrich, Tales of the Burning Love

One pair of eyes were always turned to the heavens, where the stars shined upon them, while the other's kept to the ground, where the earth flourished underneath their feet, and they stand steadfastly, stubbornly, hopelessly together.

Truthfully, they were on opposing sides of the personality spectrum, with his eyes, a hue stolen from the sky in the middle of its summer solstice, and hair of golden sunshine. His feet may be firmly planted on the ground, but his mind wandered beyond the clouds and to places where the stars glistened in the velvet darkness. His curiosity consumed him, prompting him to create machines of all variations for exploration. And he would not stop his adventurous feet until he reached the end of the universe.

Whereas the other's eyes were of the long forgotten forests that existed once upon a time. Or rather, the sunlit leafy roof that rushed above his head as he ran with stubby legs, darting in and out of the pools shadow and light. The inhabitants of the woodlands and folklore were his only companions, and he never really needed anything else. Those days may be long gone, but that doesn't stop him from dreaming of a world gone by, passed down in tongues, flourishes of a quill, the tap-tap-tap of the keyboard. Somewhere in his head, that dream world still existed, unlike his wide-eyed, but practical lover.

Together, they brought out the best in each other, similar to the infamous Nylon rumour. A combination of their sister cities that made them shine upon the world's spotlight. War, famine, disaster, one of them was there first, usually followed by the other. Their close ties were described as 'unparalleled' and 'remarkable' by the other nations of the world, as their histories, societies, even language were as deeply intertwined as their hands.

So even if the skies fell upon them and the earth crumbled under their feet, they would witness the falling of heaven and the rising of hell with their faces to the horizon, and by each other's sides.

* * *

A/N: Fail symbolism is kinda fail, but that didn't stop me from trying, eh?

And a fun fact! Nylon, the famous synthetic material, had some rumours concerning the naming. One of them was that it was a combination of the two famous cities, New York and London, which also are sister cities. There's certainly has some romanticism in it, doesn't it?

*whispers* I had a little too much fun reading the 'Special Relationship' page on WIkipedia /shot


	10. February 10 (Mask)

February 10th, 2014 - Mask

**AUTHOR:** faesphinx

The finely-molded material of the mask flexed against Alfred's features as he scowled. He had thought that his first act of heroism would give him someone thankful for his help and his bravery. Someone he could easily pull out of harm's way, and then give him a peck on the cheek in gratitude. Maybe it would even be someone cute, and they could have a secret relationship- with them never knowing he was anything but Eagle Scout.

At the moment, he was a little more concerned with dragging a little scrap of a man out of a burning building. The freaking idiot with the huge eyebrows was still trying to claw his way towards the bedroom, even as smoke filled both of their lungs.

"Forget it- forget it, whatever it is!" Alfred said, holding fast to the man who couldn't have been much more than thirty. Even with all of his strength, it was hard to keep him pinned down- it was like trying to catch a cat.

"No!" the man shouted in a British accent as thick as his eyebrows, "No, please! It's- it's the one thing I-"

He was cut off by a sudden seizing of his lungs, and Alfred took this as an opportunity to hurry him outside and set him on the curb, far enough away from the blaze, but close enough to the medical responders who were just now arriving. He glanced back at the burning apartment building.

"What is it?" he demanded, "What's worth risking your life for?"

"M-my…" the man wheezed, his voice sounding more and more like sobbing with each passing moment, "My… q-quilt. I-it was the last thing I had from m-my mother…"

The man's shoulders hunched, and he hid his face. Alfred could see him shaking, though. He didn't need any more reason than that. Without another word, he ran back into the burning building as the firemen attempted to put out the flames.

The smoke stung his trachea and his eyes, and the flames wicked every droplet away from his body, but he paid it no mind and darted down the halls to where the man had been trying to get to before Alfred had dragged him out. He grabbed for the handle of the bedroom and hissed softly as it burned his palm.

Shaking his head, he held it tight and twisted it, but it wouldn't budge.

"Okay, we're doing this the hard way," he muttered to himself, bracing his shoulder and slamming it up against the hot, swollen wood.

The room was almost entirely in flames, and Alfred counted his blessings that he hadn't met up with a fireball. As it was, his costume was starting to come apart. But he just had to get the quilt and get out.

He found the bed, completely ablaze, and felt his heart sank. He couldn't come back empty-handed!

Not after that guy had fought so hard. Maybe… maybe if he had just let him go, they could have saved the quilt and gotten out in time, anyways. His head reeled and he stumbled back. Forget the quilt- he needed to get out of here before the flames ate up the last of his air.

As he moved out, however, Alfred's eyes alighted on an old black trunk. It had a heavy lock on it. Anything in there would have to be super-valuble, and it was pretty much the only thing in the apartment that wasn't completely on fire, so it had to be worth saving. Hefting it into his arms, he moved as quickly as he could to the exit he had used before and stumbled onto the street.

His lungs instantly began to choke him as they tried to pull in oxygen, the air still tainted by black smoke as thick as the dust kicked up in his Little League days. His throat tried to close, and he fought against it, trying not to panic as he dragged the trunk over to the ambulance where the man was waiting, wrapped in a charcoal emergency blanket, with an oxygen mask strapped to his face.

"This is… only thing I could… save," he gasped, knees shaking, "Sorry…"

The man's green- how had he not noticed how green those eyes were- widened, shedding their dull cast, and he pulled the clear mask away from his nose and mouth.

"No, that's…" he stammered, "I… how did you…? That's- that's it. That's where I kept it. Th-thank you."

Alfred grinned, his visible skin streaked with sweat and ash.

"All… all in a day's work," he said, turning away before what was left of his mask could slip and reveal him.

"Wait! H-how can I repay you?" the man asked, grabbing at his hand. Alfred winced as pressure was placed on the rising blisters of his palm, but chuckled and turned back around.

"Stay safe, uh…"

"Arthur."

"Arthur. Stay… stay safe, Arthur," he said softly. Then added, against his better judgment; "I'm sure we'll meet again soon. Keep your eye out."


	11. February 11 (Left at the Altar)

February 11th, 2014 - Left at the Altar

**AUTHOR: **eeveespirit

**February 11th, 2014 - Left at the Altar**

Francis or Alfred? Arthur wondered where it had gone wrong with those two. Alfred had been his first love but Francis was the one who asked him out first. He supposed it was logical to date Francis at the time. Yet here he was, at the altar with a man he didn't love, about to get married because the man he loved never had the guts to love him.

Arthur knew Alfred liked him. There was that one time Alfred got drunk before Arthur did. Just as the priest was about to ask him the most important question of his life, Alfred burst through the doors.

"Arthur! I'm sorry for never telling you the truth. I've loved you since high school. Please don't marry Francis," panted Alfred, he had run the entire way to the church.

Arthur was shocked. What was he suppose to do? He turned towards Francis, silently asking for permission.

Francis sighed,"Go to him. You deserve him. I've known for a long time that you love him more." Arthur ran towards Alfred and jumped into his arms.

"I love you and I'm sorry for taking so long to confess," apologized Alfred.

Arthur blushed and said,"You git! It took you long enough." Alfred then preceded to carry Arthur out of the church.


	12. February 12 (Charmed)

**AUTHOR:** Ryuusei

**February 12th, 2014 - Charmed**

Poketalia: America as Braviary and England as Lopunny

I'm a free Braviary. I love leisurely flying above the forest. One day as I was taking my daily stroll in the sky, I witnessed an interesting scene. A weakened Lopunny was resisting the Poke ball the human threw at it. I was curious, so I perched myself on a branch near the battle scene. This battle might have been going on for quite some time. Even the human's Pokémon seemed tired.

"Come on, petit lapin, get in the Poke ball! One more hit from Gardevoir and you're finished," the human said.

The human threw another Poke ball, but the Lopunny barely dodged it. The wild Pokémon caught my line of sight and suddenly smirked. It stood on its hind legs and started bouncing in place.

"Mon Dieu! You still want to fight? Have it your way. Gardevoir, use magical leaf!"

The Lopunny quickly jumped in the air, avoiding the attack, and leapt towards my direction. It nimbly landed on my back and clung onto my neck. I was shocked by its movement that I almost felt paralyzed.

I gave it a side glance, and then he whispered, "You're a valiant Pokémon, right? Protect me from this disgusting human."

I could not resist the Lopunny. Something surged within me – I must help this Pokémon. I spread my wings and swiftly took off towards the sky. We managed to escape the enraged human. After flying for quite some time, I landed near a stream. The Lopunny released his hold on me and tended his wounds.

"Are you all right," I asked him.

"I'll be fine. Thanks for saving me," he replied.

"You surprised me back there. You used bounce to avoid the attack and flee from the human at the same time. Well, most of the fleeing part was done by me."

"Impressed?"

"Yeah! You're one strong Pokémon. Even in that state you still managed to pull that move. It's amazing!"

His nose slightly quivered. He then continuously rubbed it with a paw. "I-It's nothing. I am tougher than I look."

Tufts of hair above his eyes also started quivering. "Are those things your eyebrows or are those extensions of your ears?"

"It is fur, you twat! It's for protection," he retorted while wrinkling his pink, tiny nose high up. "This is my natural form," he said with a humph.

I snickered at him.

"Stop laughing!" He tried to jab me but I scooted away. "If you must know, humans think the Lopunny is one of the prettiest Pokémon there is." His thick eyebrows waggled while he spoke.

"Of course you are pretty," I teased.

"Are you mocking me?"

I could tell he was getting pissed by the way his nose was twitching, plus the fact that his long, fluffy ears were flaring up. This Lopunny could look really cute while fuming.

"No. I think you're a cute Lopunny. You could charm any Pokémon or human you want."

His ears slowly flopped down. He was rubbing his nose again. "Y-You think so? For the record, I did not force you to help me back then. I honestly–," he paused. He looked away from me. "I honestly hoped you would. The human and his Gardevoir cornered me. I was about to give up on his next throw of Poke ball, but then I saw you. I saw a chance to escape the battle."

"Why didn't you let the human catch you?"

"He is repulsive, especially his scent." He wrinkled his nose. "He may be a skilled trainer; however, he practically leered at me. I won't submit to such trainers. That human is not worthy of my skills."

He was a stubborn Pokémon; that's for sure. Still, he made me curious. "What made you think I'll help you?"

"Simple. A Braviary like you could not resist being a hero for a fellow Pokémon." He looked at me with a small smile.

"Heh. You're right about that. I'm your hero now. We should stay together then. Who knows when you'll need to be saved again?" puffing my chest feathers as I beamed at him.

"Don't get so cocky. Once I regain my strength, I shall be the one saving your feathers," he replied.

I was too caught up with our conversation that I failed to notice his condition. His wounds had not yet healed.

"Climb on my back. Let's get you healed. I know this human that can help you." He gave me a disbelieving expression. "She's a kind human. You'll like her."

"Thanks but that is not necessary. I already owe you for saving me. I can take care of myself now," the Lopunny hesitantly said.

"It's no bother, really," I squawked. "We're a party now. I just told you we should stick together."

I could not just leave him alone in the forest. He would be preyed upon by other Pokémons or by other humans. No matter what he said, I would stay by his side.

"That's nice of you. This must be my lucky day."

"It sure is! You just met the most heroic Braviary of all!"

His eyes softened as he chuckled. "Alright, my hero, take me to the human healer."

"As you wish." I bowed down my head so he can easily climb my back. The Lopunny moved closer to my face and said "you are heaven-sent. I like you."

He winked at me before hopping onto my back. I'm not sure if this Lopunny is using his cute charm ability, but I think I'm infatuated over him. Isn't cute charm supposed to work on opposite genders only…?

* * *

{I wonder what the dialogue would look like if it was done in Poke-speak….

"Brav. Braviary!"

"Lopunny. Lopunny."}


	13. February 13 (Have a Friendly V-Day)

**February 13th, 2014 - Have a Friendly, Political Valentine's Day**

**AUTHOR:** seecarrun

"I would like to purchase a valentine for someone with whom I have a friendly, political alliance."

France peaked up from his _totally_ school-appropriate magazine to see England standing in front of the table, nose in the air and cheeks a bright pink.

He smirked.

"Let me guess, _Amérique_?"

The blush got darker. "Y-yes. But don't get the wrong idea! This is just for… political reasons!" He fiddled with his tie when France continued smirking. "Nothing r-romantic. Something that fits with our current relationship."

He wiggled his eyebrows. "Your _spécial_ relationship?"

"Shut it!"

Ignoring him, France flipped through his selection with flourish. "Hmm, let us see, something that fits your relationship with little _Amérique_… Ah, _magnifique_! Here, it is perfect."

England blinked and took the card, reading it aloud to himself, "I want to take you into the next room and _rip your clothes off?!_ WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"

"You wanted a fitting card," France chuckled with a shrug.

England fumed, crumpling the card in his tightening fist. "Oh, I'll fit this card somewhere, alright…"

Come Valentine's Day, France found he didn't even mind his black eye and missing tooth.

It had been totally worth it.


	14. February 14

**February 14th, 2014**

**AUTHOR:** tophatviolet

Valentine's Day was a strange thing for the kids at Columbus Elementary School. All the stores carried copious amounts of candy, and it wasn't even Halloween! Even weirder, instead of getting candy you were supposed to give it to the other kids. Alfred was at least happy that he ended up with some in return at the end of the day. So the holiday was mildly exciting when it rolled around every year and his mother took him out to buy the cardboard Valentine's cards with lollipops stuck to them. This year he chose the ones with robots. He had dinosaurs last year, but those were for little kids now!

He spent all afternoon that day writing the names of his classmates on them and folding the cards closed with the little heart shaped stickers that came with them. To his delight, he even had an extra left over. That meant more candy for him! He wanted to eat it right then, but his mother told him to save it in case he needed the extra for someone else. So he went to bed, pouting about not being able to have the extra lollipop right then.

He had completely forgotten about it by the time he got to school the next day though. Too preoccupied by the teacher handing out brown paper bags for them to decorate for placing their candy in. Alfred drew a big American flag on his own, looking at the one hanging in the classroom for reference. It matched perfectly with all the red and white Valentines decorations he thought.

Finally, the teacher began calling their names in alphabetical order, and one by one the kids got up and dropped the flimsy cards and candy into each others paper bags. The girls giggled over cards from their crushes, and the boys fought over whom had the most candy. Alfred, of course, joined in that debate, bragging about his extra piece of candy from his own spare card. This made him the winner, he reasoned.

It wasn't until they where interrupted by the teacher calling the class to attention that they stopped their little argument. There was another little boy standing in front of the teacher looking shy and flustered. That could only mean they were getting a new student. Some children looked on with interest while others were far too absorbed in their sweets.

The new kid was named Arthur, and he had moved there all the way from across the ocean apparently. That was a pretty big feat, Alfred thought. After introductions, the Arthur kid had been sent to his newly assigned seat while the teacher fumbled with giving him another brown paper bag, but most of the class wasn't interested in giving out any more candy. The poor boy eyed the others jealously while the teacher tried to make up for it with offerings of peppermints from her desk. It just wasn't the same, though.

Alfred watched this all, fascinated. It suddenly hit him - he could _do_ something! His extra candy enabled him to have a chance to make a difference in that boy's frowning face! He felt like he had suddenly gained a super power. This must have been what his mother was talking about the night before, the 'just in case' situation. He hopped up from his desk with the extra card and lollipop in hand and casually plopped it into Arthur's paper bag with the biggest smile in his face.

The teacher applauded him for his kindness, and the new boy stared into his bag, both confused and amazed as he pulled out the single Valentine's card that he had received. The outside of it read_ 'You TRANSFORM me!'_ with a picture of a transforming robot posed with his hand where the candy was attacked to the card.

Needless to say, the two boys became fast friends, with Alfred showing Arthur everything he needed to know to survive in 'American' school. It wasn't until years later that Alfred stopped to think that Arthur might have taught him something as well. What Valentine's Day was really about.

_Ten Years Later_

Alfred met Arthur at the breakfast table of their shared apartment in the morning. The meal consisted of ordinary things, like sausage, potatoes and orange juice. Arthur thought that Alfred had forgotten the date perhaps. He always did over the top things, likegiant teddy bears or a large bouquet of balloons. This day, however, Alfred simply dropped a small cardboard children's Valentine's Day card next to Arthur's plate. It was decorated with a robot and a small chocolate. The outside read, _'You make my heart reboot'._

That in itself was enough to bring a nostalgic dampness to Arthur's eyes. When he opened it, there were words scrawled on the inside in Alfred's messy handwriting. That was when the waterworks really begun for the both of them. Arthur's response was followed by flowers and more chocolates, but neither of them cared for those in favor of each other's embrace and kisses.

As it turned out, Valentine's Day was about more than just the candy. However, they wouldn't have gotten to where they were without it, either.


	15. February 15

**February 15th, 2014**

**AUTHOR: **fuji-kumori

"I don't understand why you bought so much chocolate," Arthur held his book in his hand, poking Alfred in the stomach with the other. "I mean, you're already so fat."

Alfred pouted, tightening his arms around Arthur, who had squirmed in his lap.

"I'm going to pretend that you didn't even say that," he tugged the package of goods up onto the couch, digging into what they had bought. "It's the day after Valentine's! All the chocolates in the stores are cheap! Ya know, considering the holiday for love is already over."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he breathed out deeply. "You're the walking _definition_ of an unromantic person."

"Aw c'mon, even you of all people can't hate chocolate," he smirked, opening a box. "You _must_ want chocolate, Artie."

"N-not _want_, b-but I don't mind," he blushed, slightly turning away.

"See, even an old grump like you can't resist chocolate," he took out a piece of chocolate. "Say, 'aaah.'"

Arthur closed his eyes and slightly parted his lips, waiting for the piece of chocolate to enter his mouth. Once he felt a slight pressure against his lips, he stuck out his tongue, curling it to take the chocolate from him. He slipped his tongue back into his mouth along with the small piece, gently licking Alfred's salty finger.

"Isn't it good?" Alfred smirked, staring into his lover's eyes.

"Quite," he paused, before looking up at Alfred.


	16. February 16 (Starmap)

**February 16th - Starmap**

**AUTHOR: **Ellarose C

The sun was set, the cat was asleep at their feet, but Al and Arthur were still awake in the dappled starlight, draped over each other in their bed. Al was teasing idly into Arthur's bare shoulder blade, watching his fingers move. Arthur hummed and nuzzled closer to his heart, eyes closed and smiling.

"You have constellations embedded in your skin."

Arthur scoffed. "What, are you going to go on about how we're all made of stardust now?"

"Nah, there's nothing special in that, stardust is just dust." His fingers found a route. "You have freckles, though, and there's Lyra and Serpens and Taurus hidden in them." He yawned, jaw cracking by Arthur's ear. "I should get a pen and trace 'em."

"Not if it means you're getting up, you're not." Arthur latched his arm around Al's waist under the sheets. "'Sides, why're looking for stars on back when there's a perfectly good night sky to your right?"

Al shrugged under him. "Cause I like yours more."

Arthur damned his face for its flaming tendencies, his bare cheek burning in the bare hollow of Al's shoulder. "Oh, shush and let me sleep." Al smiled, a quirk of the mouth, before pressing his lips to Arthur's temple and slowing his wandering hands to a standstill.


	17. February 17 (Earth, Wind, and Flyer)

**February 17th, 2014 - Earth, Wind, & Flyer**

**AUTHOR**: zeplerfer

"Hey, Artie!" Alfred shouted, eager to see Arthur again after his mysterious week-long absence. Speeding down the hallway, the young airbender did a loop-de-loop along the walls and ceiling, before coming to an abrupt halt in front of his friend.

Arthur said nothing, not even complaining about the gust of wind that mussed up his hair, whipping his locks in all directions.

"Is something wrong?" Alfred asked, riding a ball of air as he followed Arthur down the corridor. "Where were you?"

Arthur shook his head, frowning as he kept his gaze fixed on the floor. He stepped into his room and immediately raised an earthen wall to block the other boy from following.

Alfred laughed, taking the blocked path as a challenge. He raced back down the hallway, out the window, through the gardens, up the dormitory wall, and into Arthur's window. Landing gracefully on his toes, he pulled a few flowers out of his hair and offered them to Arthur. For some reason, flowers usually seemed to cheer up the older boy.

"Does it have something to do with your bending?" Alfred asked, as tactless as always. He sat down next to his friend and watched Arthur curiously. Alfred had been fascinated by the young earthbender ever since his arrival on Air Temple island. Most of the other air acolytes had been intimidated when they heard they would be training with the recently-discovered Avatar, the only person who could master all four elements. Not Alfred. He had eagerly approached the older boy and insisted on being his friend.

"They want to send me to the Southern Air Temple to try learning from a new master."

"What?!" Alfred exclaimed, nearly blowing the blankets off the bed in his shock. "They can't! I don't want you to go." The younger boy pouted and crossed his arms. After a few moments, he suddenly brightened. "Wait! I have an idea!" He grabbed Arthur's hand and pulled him out the second-story window. Alfred grinned as he pulled Arthur to the cliffs at the end of the island.

"Alfred? Alfred! Stop!" Arthur shouted as they approached the edge of the cliff without slowing down. He spotted the rack of air gliders near the ledge and finally realized Alfred's foolhardy plan. As they swept past the gliders, one flew into Alfred's hands. The young airbender snapped open the two-person glider.

Arthur hesitated for a moment, debating whether he wanted to jump off a cliff with a 9-year-old airbender or step back and leave Alfred to fend for himself. Feeling responsible for Alfred's safety, Arthur gripped the handle and stomped the ground to send them soaring into the air.

The glider flew across the bay, held aloft by a warm current. Arthur's initial panic slowly receded, replaced by a sense of wonder. He could feel Alfred manipulating the air flow, keeping them soaring above the island in high, lazy circles.

Arthur began to smile, enjoying the breathtaking view of Republic City at night. Ever since learning he was the Avatar, Arthur had been forced to grow up quickly. Part of the reason he liked Alfred was because the younger boy reminded him of the freedom of youth. It occurred to Arthur that they could just keep flying and he would never have to suffer through another disappointed glance. The idea was extremely tempting.

As if he had the same idea, Alfred banked away from the island and toward the outskirts of Republic City. They landed on an air strip.

"The United Air Force?" Arthur asked, spotting the sign in the distance. He wrinkled his forehead in confusion. Airbenders were pacifists, so his teachers never talked about the military. He knew only what he had learned while growing up in the Earth Kingdom, and it wasn't much.

"Yeah! I want to see the airplanes." Alfred grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the hangars. Feeling daring and reckless, Arthur readily followed.

The planes were sleek and beautiful, their metal shining dimly in the moonlight. Arthur admired them for a few moments, although he was not as easily enthralled as Alfred. So it was Arthur who noticed the guard approaching. Arthur ducked behind a plane and tried to catch Alfred's attention. The younger boy didn't even notice Arthur's urgent whispers.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be here!" the guard shouted, running toward Alfred. Arthur tripped him by creating a small mound of dirt in front of his feet. Both boys raced for the exit. They grabbed the glider at the same time and ran along the air strip, trying to take off. Arthur could tell that without a cliff they wouldn't gain enough momentum.

"I'll push us up, and you create a current of air below us!" Arthur shouted, feeling a strong sense of exhilaration flowing through his veins. Running away from a guard was the most fun he'd had in weeks.

At the count of three, Arthur shot them up with a pillar of earth. Alfred blasted air downward to keep them aloft. But it wasn't enough. Arthur could feel them start to drop, giving in to the pull of gravity.

In an instant he knew that if he were caught, he would definitely be sent to the Southern Air Temple to focus on his studies. No more late-night escapes with Alfred. The last bit of fun in his life would disappear forever. Desperate to stay, Arthur pushed one hand toward the ground. A blast of air emerged from his palm, giving them enough lift to reach the steady air currents at a higher altitude. Alfred set the course for Air Temple Island.

Once their feet safely touched the ground, Alfred leapt into Arthur's arms and hugged him tightly. "You did it!" he shouted excitedly. "I knew you could!"

Arthur smiled fondly at the younger boy. Eventually he would have to move on to master waterbending and firebending, but for the moment he wanted nothing better than to play airbender games with his young friend.


	18. February 18

**AUTHOR:** ellarose-c **February 18th, 2014** _Brrrrrrrriing. Bringringringringbring-_ "Oh for God's sake, I'm coming!" England jumped down the last few stairs and fell forward to open his door, an irrepressible smile on his face. "Honestly, have some patienc-" He paused and blinked at the bouquet thrust in his face - snowdrops, daffodils, maiden's hair, hyacinth, at a glance. It was so early-spring that he could smell the dew clinging to the petals. "Oh." He reached out to take them, hands brushing America's in the process. "Thank you." America's smile, no longer hidden by the bouquet tucked into England's elbow, turned sheepish. "They're not from my backyard, which is a cryin' shame, but they were never gonna last that flight. I told the lady what I wanted to the T, though, so it's as close's I can get." America tugged his suitcase over the threshold before ducking in for a kiss. "Happy Valentine's Day, observed." England's smile tugged at one corner, and he cleared his throat. "I'll go put these in water." He turned to the kitchen abruptly, America following. He (carefully) buried his face in the crocuses and boxwood cuttings, and decided not to try and decipher America's unintended flower language. Sometimes, flowers are just flowers. 


	19. February 19

**AUTHOR: **darkyfoot

**February 19th, 2014 - Sick Day**

England yawned and rolled over in his bed, opening one eye drowsily and coming nose to nose with a snoring American. He sat up and looked down at the younger nation with a fond smile before climbing out of the bed carefully, trying not to disturb his slumbering boyfriend. He slipped out of the bedroom and returned a few minutes later with a hot cup of tea for himself and a steaming mug of coffee for America but was surprised to see the other blonde still snoring away. Usually America woke up right after he left the bed but today he was determined to sleep in apparently.

"Come on love." England set the drinks down on his bedside table and reached over to shake his shoulder in an attempt to wake his boyfriend up. "Time to get up. We've got a lot of things to do today." America whined and buried his face in his pillow and England rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

"I know you're awake America, get up. We've got lunch with my brothers in-"He paused to check his alarm clock. "Three hours and I want to do a spot of cleaning before we go."

"Don't wanna get up." America moaned. "Feel sick." England took a moment to translate what he had just said, since America's face was shoved in a pillow and his morning slur was very pronounced this morning. Once he had figured it out, England rolled his eyes again and rapped the back of America's head lightly.

"Come on poppet, I know you're not too fond of my brothers but that's no excuse to pretend to be sick." He chided, starting unravel the nest of blankets his boyfriend had wrapped himself in.

"'M not fakin' it." America rolled over to face England, pouting with flushed cheeks. "I feel really sick." He complained weakly. "I think I got a temperature…" England huffed slightly and reached over to press the back of his hand against the younger nation's forehead, preparing to berate the American on his poor acting but was surprised to find that America, was in fact, burning up.

"Well then." He said, raising one eyebrow. "I stand corrected; you do have a bit of a fever love." He sat back and patted his partners arm comfortingly. "Where do you feel sick? I need you to elaborate so I can figure out what's wrong." America moaned and rolled over onto his side, closing his eyes and rubbing his cheek.

"My head hurts…'n I can't hardly breathe through my nose." He explained with a pout. "My chest hurts too.."

"It sounds like you have a chest cold. And either say 'I can't breathe' or 'I can hardly breathe', not both." He stood up and brushed imaginary dust from his pyjamas before heading for the door. "I'll go cancel our plans then, I'll be back in a moment." America just whined and buried his head in his pillow.

After a few phone calls, several explanations and many repeats of 'No he really is sick this time, I'm not making it up just to get out of lunch with you', England returned to America's side, only to find the younger nation sprawled out over the bed with the blankets kicked off and the ceiling fan on the highest setting.

"I got hot."

* * *

"I'm cold!" America whined, curling up as small as he could on the bed. England rolled his eyes.

"That's your own fault for kicking off the blankets again." He reprimanded, picking up one of the discarded sheets and draping it over his boyfriend delicately. America grabbed at England's hand when he did and pulled him down next to him, spider-monkeying his Englishman as soon as his back hit the mattress.

"You're warm~" He mumbled, hiding his face against England's shoulder. England tried to push him off but gave up after a few seconds and rested his head on his arms.

"And you're burning up. Did you take the medicine I gave you?" He questioned, looking up at his ill boyfriend with a raised eyebrow. When America didn't answer right away he let out a disappointed sigh. "America, do you want to get better or not?"

"It was gross!" America whined. "It didn't even taste like strawberry!"

"Well what did you do with it then?" England demanded, scowling slightly. America didn't answer but his eyes darted traitorously to the vase of wild flowers Canada had given England earlier in the week. England groaned.

* * *

"Eat your soup!"

"No! It's gross!"

"Do you want to get better?"

"…Yes…"

"Then eat your soup!"

"No!"

"Eat the damn soup!"

"Never!"

* * *

England dropped onto his bed with an exhausted groan, rubbing his temples with one hand. America was sprawled out behind him, sleeping peacefully. His snores didn't sound so congested anymore which was hopefully a good sign. It looked like it was just a twenty-four hour thing so if they were lucky, America would be back on his feet by morning. And if he wasn't… well, screw him, England was not going to waste another day looking after the younger nation, who seemed to revert to toddler-mode when sick.

"Night, love." He whispered, leaning over to press a light kiss to America's forehead. America let out a sleepy murmur and rolled over to lie on his side and England gave him a fond smile before settling down next to him. Even if he was a pain in the arse to look after when sick, it was still totally worth it when he got to see his American like this.


	20. February 20

**AUTHOR:** maplerosekisses

**February 20th, 2014**

Alfred woke up to an otherwise empty bed, and he could see Arthur's alarm clock telling him it was almost four in the morning. He pressed his fingers against closed eyes with a soft groan. He was supposed to get up at six-thirty, but Arthur wasn't in bed and the bathroom light was still off, so he should probably find out why.

He slipped out of bed and padded down the stairs. The flickering blue light of the TV reflecting off the walls was visible just a few seconds before he was close enough to hear… music?

Oh.

He stepped up to the back of the couch and slipped his hands down Arthur's chest, arms wrapped loosely around him, and leaned over to set his chin on Arthur's shoulder.

"Couldn't sleep?" Arthur smiled softly and reached up to cover one of Alfred's hands with his own, leaning his head against Alfred's.

"The jet lag's taking a little longer to wear off this time, it seems. And I was almost asleep when Francis called — he didn't realize we'd already left." He turned to kiss Alfred's cheek. "And after that I couldn't get back to sleep."

"So you decided to watch this?" Alfred asked, moving around the couch to sit beside him and tugging him back against his chest.

"It seemed appropriate." Alfred held him a little tighter. "Have I mentioned that it's really unfair you have to work tomorrow?"

"A few times," Alfred replied. "Boss apologized but there's not a better time for this meeting, and I'll be off in time to take you to dinner, and then I have the rest of the week and the whole weekend off." He leaned down to put his lips to Arthur's ear. "Remember that little B&B I took you to a few years ago?" Arthur didn't answer, but his smile as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back on Alfred's shoulder said enough.

After a few more minutes of silence — aside from the music coming from the television — Alfred said, "You know, I think Mattie still has this on his computer. We could get him to add to it."

Arthur turned his head to smile softly as the picture on the screen changed to the two of them kissing in Alfred's snow-blanketed back yard, sometime in the early 50s. The same one that had been sitting in a frame on their dresser ever since Matthew had developed it.

"We should do that."

Alfred held him a little closer and nuzzled against the soft fabric on his shoulder. "Come on, I have a few more hours before I need to get up. Let's go back to bed."

Arthur sighed and started to stand, but before he could Alfred caught his left hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, feeling the smooth metal of Arthur's wedding ring under his lips.

"Happy anniversary, Arthur."


	21. February 21

**AUTHOR:** animexalchemist

**February 21st, 2014**

If you asked anyone about Alfred F. Jones, they would most likely smile fondly and shake their heads in the sort of way that only one can do when considering the subject matter. To his teachers, Alfred was a little troublemaker with a golden heart, so they could never get too mad at him. To his classmates, he was a best friend who liked to play fair and include everyone (both in innocent playground games and in the more daring pranks, such as slyly placing a whoopee-cushion on the teacher's chair).

To his parents, Alfred was your typical boisterous nine-year-old who had a penchant for coming home with new scratches and bruises from playing a sport or trying to climb the highest tree he could find. Alfred was a good boy, but he was also a boy who had a phobia.

Alfred F. Jones had trypanophobia.

(Not that he knew it was called that).

He simply couldn't abide needles. He made this known to anyone who cared to look at his face as his parents drove him to the local clinic to get some routine vaccinations. His usually grinning mouth was pulled into a pout and his bright eyes glowered at the backseat of the car. He would occasionally kick the seat in front of him in a show of petulant childishness, even though he knew it wasn't very hero-like to do so.

He walked into the clinic with this same look of disdain, scrunching his nose at the smell of disinfectant and pointedly ignoring anyone who worked there. He complained that the horrendous yellow plastic chairs were uncomfortable when they were in the waiting room and he wanted to run away as he was led to a room by the receptionist. His mother, ever the worrier, was pouring through every leaflet about vaccinations as if it was her one mission in life to devour every last scrap of information (despite her intensive Google search sessions of the past few days). His father, the sort that wanted his kid to be 'tough' and 'a man', the sort who endorsed

American Football at every avenue and had a knack for working the names of 'rugged men' (as he called them) into everyday conversation, insisted that his son had to conquer his silly fear and face it on his own.

As a hero, Alfred decided to face this head on. The receptionist led him into a fairly small room, one with a couple of chairs adjacent to a desk with a computer atop it, and opposite a bed that patients were to lie on if necessary. She then patted Alfred on the head and left, leaving him to brood and mope on one of the seats.

"Not a fan of vaccinations?" he heard someone, a man's voice, ask him. He looked up and was startled to find that someone was actually in the room with him. He looked old, but young. Like, younger than his parents, but older than him. He had blonde hair and really weird eyebrows.

"You talk funny," the boy muttered, crossing his arms. "And I hate needles."

The man nodded in understanding, casually leaning against the wall opposite the American. "Same. I could never stand the things. Still can't, if I'm totally honest."

Alfred furrowed his brows in confusion and scrutinized what the man was wearing. Black pressed trousers, a neat white blouse, a smart green tie… "Aren't you the doctor?" he asked.

The man laughed. It was a nice sound. "I wish," he sighed dreamily. "Not quite. I'm actually here on work experience, so I just observe what the doctors do and get an idea of what I'll hopefully be doing one day."

"You wanna be a doctor?" The man nodded, explaining that he wanted to go back to England and work at some place called Saint Bart's. Alfred hummed thoughtfully before saying, in the pointed way that only a child with unfathomable confidence can, "You have pretty eyes."

The man smiled. "Cheers. I'm Arthur."

"Alfred. How old are you?" Alfred asked, cocking his head to the side.

"I'm eighteen," the man replied.

Alfred nodded. "I'm nine. I've always been here." He paused before adding, "Like, the US, not in the clinic."

Someone bustled in then, a woman who was brandishing some needles, and Alfred's eyes widened and he began to panic. "W-Wait," he began, shrinking back into his seat. He could feel a sweat break out on his forehead. He wasn't ready for this!

"Alfred," the man- Arthur- said calmly, walking over and kneeling beside him. "It'll be all right. You can have some sweets afterwards if you're good, okay?" Alfred eyed the woman who was wielding the needle and he went pale. He shook his head. No amount of sweets was worth this!

"How about a dollar?" Arthur offered. Alfred was a bit insulted at this. A measly dollar? He was going up against a needle! That was worth more than a dollar!

"A kiss," Alfred said suddenly. Arthur looked confused, so Alfred repeated. "If I do it, I want a kiss." The needle was getting closer, so he pulled his arm away and looked into green. "Promise?" Arthur chuckled a little, but he nodded, so Alfred reluctantly held his arm out.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Arthur smiled when it was over. Alfred, not wanting to admit that it wasn't too bad, ignored the question.

"You promised a kiss," he said.

"I did," Arthur smiled, leaning in and pecking Alfred on the cheek. "There."

Alfred frowned. "Hey, I didn't mean that. That's cheating," he pouted. However, his mother chose then to burst into the room and Arthur took the opportunity to move away after ruffling Alfred's hair.

"Are you all right, sweetie?" his mum asked.

Alfred nodded slowly before grinning. "Hey mom, when I grow up I'm gonna be a doctor and work at Saint Bart's!"

After all, Arthur still owed him a proper kiss and he'd get it no matter what.


	22. February 22 (Improper Use of Magic)

**AUTHOR:** seecarrun

**February 22nd, 2014 - Improper Use of Magic**

"Hello again, Mr. Jones."

Alfred Jones, in Arthur's office for the fifth time that month, grinned sheepishly. "Hey Artie, how are you doin' today?"

Arthur Kirkland glanced at Alfred, unamused, from under thick eyelashes. "I would be better if you weren't here, wasting my time once again," he grumbled. "Let's see the damage this time, shall we?" Clearing his throat, he ruffled his paperwork and read it aloud in a clear, authoritative voice. "Alfred Foster Jones, Department of Magical Games and Sports, Quodpot Division, fined for transforming every Quaffle in the Puddlemere United supply room into a Quod. Really?"

Alfred shrugged. "Seemed like a good way to spread Quodpot awareness to Quidditch fans."

Arthur sighed, shaking his head. "Mr. Jones-"

"Call me Alfred."

He narrowed his eyes with a frown. "Mr. Jones, I don't know what kind of education you received across the pond at Salem Academy, but here in the United Kingdom, we take the improper use magic very seriously."

"Hey now, I have never used magic in front of Muggles, and I'm most definitely over seventeen," he explained. "Technically, I haven't done anything wrong."

Arthur grit his teeth. Technically, Jones had a point. It was one of the reasons the Ministry hesitated to continue fining Jones for his ridiculous, albeit harmless, Quodpot "advertisements", but for some reason, Arthur continued to insist.

He refused to admit that he had grown rather fond of the young American, attributing it to his desire for justice, rather than his desire to see those beautiful blue eyes. He was fairly certain no one believed him.

"While those are traditionally the only cases brought to the Improper Use of Magic Office, our intentions are officially listed as investigating illegal, but not criminal, uses of magic, which you most certainly have done. Numerous times."

Alfred rocked back on his heels, seemingly contemplating his next move. Finally, he nodded to himself and slipped off his glasses in order to clean the lenses. "Tell ya what, Artie," he began, keeping his eyes on his glasses, "I can think of just one thing that I want more than to spread the great sport of Quodpot to you poor, repressed Europeans. If I get it, I just might stop."

"Well thank heavens for that, then," Arthur sighed, falling back in his chair in relief with a roll of his eyes. "What would that be?"

Alfred slipped his glasses back over his eyes, smiling flirtatiously at Arthur over the frames. "For you to go on a date with me."

Win/win for me. Arthur thought to himself, while his inner self pumped a triumphant fist into the air, however, externally, his cheeks turned pink, his eyes grew wide, and his mouth hung open. "Excuse me?" he snapped.

He was a proper gentleman, after all.

"C'mon Artie! Don't tell me you thought I kept doing all this stupid stuff just for the good of good ol' Quodpot?"

Arthur sighed heavily, using everything in his power not to jump down and demand Alfred carry him off into the sunset then and there. "Well, I suppose I have no choice, if it's the only thing to stop all this nonsense of yours."

Alfred's face broke into a wide grin. "Scout's honor!" he promised with a wink. "Pick you up here tomorrow after work?"

Arthur allowed himself a small smile, finding himself too caught up in Alfred's enthusiasm to keep himself too far in line. "Don't be late."


	23. February 23

**AUTHOR:** bubblelounge

**February 23rd, 2014**

"Sometimes, I think this is the best part of my day, you know," Arthur told him one morning, as the train chugged along like it did every day, ferrying the mostly washed and often rumpled masses of commuters away from the comforts of hearth and home towards the doldrums of beige office walls.

Arthur's murmured declaration came seemingly out of the blue, spoken quietly and said without even the turning of his gaze away from the window-smudged view of the English countryside that so often captured Arthur's attention on their morning journey. Alfred laughed, looked around the crowded car at tired faces, noted the slump of shoulders and the malaise of work-worn weariness, and waited for Arthur to explain what, exactly, was so great about a morning commute.

But Arthur remained, inexplicably, unusually, weirdly silent, apparently uninterested in being more forthcoming after his big, random reveal.

Even though he knew Arthur would throw a hissy fit if he caught him in the act of such blatant book abuse, Alfred folded down the page-corner of his mediocre mystery novel, amused and curious enough to risk Arthur's wrath.

"Oh, yeah? You got a secret train fetish you've been keeping from me?"

Arthur gave up staring mournfully out the window for casting aspersions on Alfred's character and said, "Are all Americans this idiotically prurient or is just you?"

"Well, my mama did always tell me I was special. But then again, maybe you just bring it out in me." Alfred said, favoring Arthur with the wide, toothy, smile that never failed to vaguely disconcert his staid Northern European colleagues. Arthur's glare was almost withering enough to melt the starch of Alfred's collar, but the blush on his cheeks was more enough to soften Alfred's outrageous grin into something a little sweeter, a little more genuine. "Alright, Artie. I'll bite. How could spending forty-eight minutes sitting on a cramped seat on a crowded train be the best part of your day?"

Arthur's fingers drummed an anxious beat on Alfred's knee, betraying the casualness with which he said, "We're often so busy, I feel as though we share little more than sleep with one another…"

Alfred sighed and reached for him. "It won't always be like this, I swear. Just until I make partner and you—"

"—get promoted to Detective Inspector," Arthur interrupted, turning his palm over to meet the press of Alfred's hand. "Yes, I know, I know. All the missed dinners and late nights and canceled holidays are all for a good cause. But it doesn't mean that on occasion I don't miss you terribly."

"Well, shucks, sugar! I miss you, too." Alfred smiled and brought Arthur's knuckles to his lips, kissed them just to watch Arthur's cheeks burn a proper-Englishman red.

"Prat," Arthur grumbled, pulling his hand away from the rub of Alfred's chin but leaving their fingers laced together as he closed his eyes and settled his head once more against the rain-streaked window. "Anyhow, though it may be far too early and there are far too many people milling about, I like the forty-eight minutes we spend on this horrid little commute because for those forty-eight minutes, I have the weight of your leg against my own. I can smell your cologne and hear the way you mutter under your breath while you read. I can sit here and feel as though I have you all to myself."

"Yeah. Yeah, I can understand that." Alfred squeezed Arthur's hand and picked up his book with the other, opening it to a dog-eared page as the train rumbled along and Arthur was quiet and warm beside him. Alfred turned the page and smiled. "Being with you is the best part of my day, too."


	24. February 24

February 24th, 2014

**ART VIEWABLE AT THE TUMBLR AND/OR LIVEJOURNAL**

**ARTIST:** Jane

**AUTHOR: **empressvegah

**February 24th, 2014**

Arthur was in a situation he couldn't escape.

His class decided that it would be sodding brilliant to camp out in the wild – for their Biology class, nonetheless. That wasn't the main problem though, even if he preferred to sleep under a roof instead of a tent.

Their sleeping arrangements were in alphabetical order.

Meaning, he would be sharing a tent with Alfred F. Jones. Oh joy.

Arthur honestly didn't know how to act around Alfred anymore. They knew each other, sure, but ever since those blasted dreams started, he began to stay away from him on purpose, rationalizing on the fact that his dreams were obviously influenced by Alfred's presence. So why stay near the catalyst?

But even if he stayed away, the dreams were becoming more frequent and intense, that he was actually afraid of what he would dream later that night, especially with Alfred sleeping just a few feet away from him.

Arthur volunteered to help with their dinner so that he would be away from the git who was setting up their tent, but he was kicked out from the cooking area. Feeling the need to stay away from Alfred as subtly as he could, he asked the teacher if he could help in any other way. He was told to gather the students around the campfire, and he asked if he could wash the dishes so that he could delay entering inside his and Alfred's shared tent.

Arthur's plan seemed to be a success – Alfred did not to notice that he was blatantly avoiding him.

When he managed to wash all the dishes and cooking utensils used, it was already bedtime. Confident that Alfred would be asleep by this time, Arthur crawled inside their tent. Seeing the big lump inside the sleeping bag, he breathed a sigh of relief. Quietly as he could, he wiggled inside his own sleeping bag and closed his eyes, hoping that he wouldn't dream of Alfred's stupid face.

Arthur blinked his eyes open. He was in an empty classroom. He sighed. Another dream. Heaven sure was stingy tonight. He walked towards the window, only to feel the damn git's presence. He turned and frowned at Alfred.

"Arthur, come here," Alfred demanded, his face surprisingly serious that Arthur had no other option but to comply, curious as to what his obnoxious acquaintance could want from him. When he was only a few feet away, Alfred abruptly reached for his arm and he was yanked against an unexpectedly toned chest.

All Arthur could do was gasp in surprise.

Heart racing, Arthur couldn't form the words to deliver his usual sarcastic remark as rough fingers tilted his chin up, making him look into Alfred's sky blue eyes. The piercing look held him in place as he vaguely noted that an arm had enveloped around his middle, keeping him right against Alfred's torso.

He knew his face was bright red – he could feel the heat coming off from his cheeks. Oh dear, oh god, what was happening – why was Alfred doing this… this thing?!

"A-Alfred?" he found himself asking the taller boy weakly. His knees had already buckled, if not for Alfred's strong arm holding him up.

"Arthur, there's something I wanted to tell you, and I want you to listen to me," Alfred whispered. Arthur could feel his breath against his cheek. His skin was starting to become hyperaware of the parts where they were connected, and he couldn't help that he was feeling suddenly very warm.

He was about to ask Alfred what it was or even push him away – but Alfred's arms were locking him in place – when the taller teen cut him off, saying, "Arthur, I love you–" At this Arthur gasped out loud, a shiver of delight running across his back. "And I wanted to do so many things to you, to touch you and taste you and I just want you so bad, Arthur," Alfred breathed, his lips only a few centimeters away from Arthur's own.

When Arthur felt the taller teen roughly kiss him, he suddenly realized that all his hostility towards these dreams were just a front – he wanted this as much as this Alfred wanted him, he couldn't help but give in and moan in excitement, "A-Alfred! Y-Yes!"

"Artie, dude! Wake up!"

Arthur's eyes snapped open. His heart was beating so hard against his ribcage, and he was partly breathless from his intense dream. Worried sky blue eyes were staring back at him, and Arthur felt a warm hand squeezing his shoulder. "W-What?" he snapped, but it came out more like a sleepy murmur instead.

"Artie, you okay, man? You were squirming and saying my name out loud, I thought you were crying for help!" Alfred exclaimed worriedly, his very blue eyes were still looking at Arthur.

Finally registering whom the voice belonged to, Arthur promptly snapped from his sleepy state and he felt himself starting to shake in utter embarrassment. Oh dear god no. Alfred heard him call out his name? With all the blood rushing into his face, and his heart acting like he had run a marathon, Arthur suddenly felt faint. He almost fell back on his sleeping back if not for Alfred's quick reflexes preventing him from falling.

"Holy shit, Artie! Should I go call our teacher? You don't look good, and you're burning up!" Alfred then pressed the back of his hand against Arthur's forehead. Arthur actually shivered upon contact. He couldn't deal with this now – not when he just finally acknowledged the fact that he might be crushing on him, of all people.

"Are you too cold?" Alfred asked, and before Arthur could answer him, Alfred was already shrugging his signature bomber jacket and stuffing him in it.

"There, I hope the cold won't get you now! Sleep well, Artie, and call for me when you need me, okay?"

Alfred grinned at him, pleased that he had solved Arthur's 'problem'. Speechless, Arthur could only nod his thanks and wiggled back inside his sleeping bag, turning his back to Alfred.

Making sure that Alfred was sleeping soundly, Arthur, with his face bright red, snuggled into the fluffy collar, inhaling the wonderful scent, and whispered, "You stupid, kind git."


	25. February 25

**AUTHOR:** anonymous

**February 25th, 2014**

Alfred had always thought it would happen when he was a teenager. When he was young and fit and had a little popularity. At the very least his name was known (though it was probably because he was one of the loudest students at the school, and overly friendly like an exuberant labrador.)

He had a few dates here and there, but when he hit a lull he told himself and everyone else he was focusing on school because his old man would kill him if he didn't get a scholarship into a good school! Which was true, his dad had high aspirations for him; but Alfred, master procrastinator, also could juggle school and sports without an issue. Surely he could've dated a little more often if he'd felt like it.

But he brushed it off and sailed through high school and on to college. There he again didn't have time to date, though now it was actually true. Suddenly he had to focus and strap down to get his work completed and he bemoaned those studying skills he'd never actually leaned. He also bemoaned the medical theaters he had to watch, feeling oddly squeamish through the first one, though he later adjusted and took a clinical interest in each one. (It was there he decided he couldn't handle the responsibility of being a surgeon.)

Even the odd fling over break, the flirting with the cute barista with the scruffy beard who worked the coffee shop didn't get him far in college. And now… Now, Alfred was having a slight mid-life crisis. There he was with a mildly successful practice as a family doctor, nothing world renowned but he was known as the main practitioner of the town, a nice little house fixed up and renovated how he liked, loans he could pay without too much hassle and already thirty-eight. The flaw in all this? He went home to his cat. Only his cat. His grumpy cat who sulked every night until he'd stolen his human's dinner from where he had been trying to eat on the couch in front of the TV. Yes, Alfred Jones was just as single as he'd been the day he'd graduated high school. And that happened to be painfully single.

Arthur had never had high expectations on when he would find a partner. Through secondary school they'd all be a lot of nitwits and he wouldn't put up with that. (And he was an awful hypocrite as well since everyone is a nitwit around that age. Himself included.) He'd went on a few dates here and there, gotten drunk and groped one or two of the more athletic young women in his year and earned himself a resounding slap on the cheek or kick in the shin, but it was never anything serious. (But oh, if those girls weren't tough. He'd quickly realized his mistakes and apologized quickly thereafter, though the glares were nearly as deadly as the girls' aim.)

University hadn't seen him much more sociable. He'd kept right on track with his studies, tried to adjust to life in the States, deciding that /they/ were all a lot of good for nothing's as well. (He didn't actually get to know many of them, but… Well!) It wasn't as if he was paying tuition so that he could date anyway, and he had more important things to worry about than the ridiculous fellow in the coffee house who attempted to flirt with him from time to time as Arthur tried to study. He looked like he needed sleep more than coffee anyway, and he made the resound decision to ignore him. Three weeks later Arthur noted that the barista now had taken on his problem and seemed pleased enough to return the flirting. Back to his studies then.

Graduation had seen him into a fairly successful job working in a museum, which seemed like perfection itself some days. Other days… His mood was a tad bitter. And that likely had to do with the fact that he found himself heading home every night to a modest home situated just as he liked it, debts that could be comfortably paid, and his fat cat who waltzed right up every night and boldly tried to steal his dinner from where he ate on the couch in front of the telly. He'd turned thirty-nine earlier that year and Arthur Kirkland was as single as the day he'd left for the United States. And that was pretty damn single.

When Alfred received the invitation in the mail his first reaction was to leave it sitting with his bills, not to be bothered until later in the week when he would sit down to pay them all. When this actually occurred (amidst getting his irritable cat off the kitchen table) Alfred didn't even consider. Three utility bills and a car payment later he reread the invite and reconsidered, getting his RSVP ready to send out with the payments. Why not go and see how everyone else was doing? He hadn't talked to quite a few of his classmates in awhile. So he decided he would go to his five year reunion.

Arthur had gone because he felt he ought to. If someone was putting the time and money into planning a reunion then he might as well attend. He spruced up a little after work the day before, his bag in the boot of the car, and then set him off to the hotel he'd gotten a room at for the event since it wasn't in his town, grumbling on the way there.

A paid bar. Who had a paid bar at an event like this? Arthur wasn't all that pleased but at least a little alcohol smoothed over some of the flaws of the evening. Like the fact he didn't remember most of these people. Had he really been that much of a recluse? She looked familiar… He was about to say hello whenever he remembered why. He'd spent one interesting night with her and her boyfriend of the time, something he would love to forget. Maybe he should've been more of a recluse. Sat at the bar, he at first ignored the laughing of the idiot who'd say down beside him. He was talking with a few of what Arthur was positive were old friends and he didn't want to be bothered by their lot. But it didn't seem to matter, because as his laughter died down and the friends dissipated to catch up with other people he was left with the idiot beside him.

"So, how's it going?" Shit, should he remember this guy? Alfred couldn't but he seemed so familiar! Maybe they'd shared a math class? Well, he could bluff his way through everyone else he didn't remember so surely this guy wouldn't be so much more difficult.

"Do I know you?"

Oh. Well that made things easier too. "I'm not sure," he admitted with a sheepish laugh. "You look awful familiar though. Alfred Jones ring any bells?"

"Er, no. But I'll admit, you look familiar too… Perhaps we passed in the hall or something. Arthur Kirkland."

A handshake and a couple of drinks later they were laughing and talking like old friends, having quickly relaxed. Neither could figure out why they seemed so familiar, but that was soon forgotten as Alfred let out an un dignified giggle at a story he was telling. "And then she- get this- she's freaking out and thinking he's having this huuuge allergic reaction or something. I went I swab his face and it was kool-aid! The kid needed a bath. That was it. This is the shit I get paid for!"

Arthur tried to hide his response to Alfred's infectious smile with an eye roll. "Are you even allowed to tell these kinds of things? What happened to doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Uuh… Well, I'm not giving any names so I should be safe," Alfred muttered, looking a bit embarrassed. Then he seemed like something struck him. "Hey! Do that again- make that face!"

Offended, Arthur scoffed at him. "What face?!"

"That one right there! Like you think I'm a doofus!"

"-Did you just say doofus?"

"That's it! That look- You're the guy from the coffee shop!"

Arthur looked at Alfred as if he'd lost his mind, trying to remember anyone from a coffee house. Then it hit him why the idiot seemed familiar and he was thankful the warm room and alcohol could be used as an excuse for any potential flush to his face. "You- You're the idiot that flir- pestered me so often? God, I wanted to strangle you and tell you to get some rest!"

Alfred laughed, that obnoxiously happy sound that it always was (and always had been, Arthur now realized.) "Flirted. You can say it, that's what it was. Oh no, you're gonna make me take a nap. How scary."

"Oh, hush! You looked half dead every time I saw you. If you were going to try and flirt you should've at least looked like you'd slept in the last week, otherwise I was worried I'd be left with the responsibility of your sorry arse asleep in the coffee house, and how the hell was I to know what to do with you?"

"Couldn't help it," Alfred continued, grinning boldly. "I thought you were cute, so I had to say something! Besides, you always stole my favorite seat and with the caffeine I couldn't fall asleep!"

Arthur acted as if he felt forced to spend time with someone with Alfred's intelligence level, but he knew the man wasn't an idiot. He also knew that they were both enjoying their conversation, which was what probably led to them catching a cab back to the hotel together after a few more drinks than planned on either end. But that was fine, they'd coincidentally gotten rooms in the same establishment and it gave them a chance to talk awhile longer.

The next morning Alfred woke with a small groan, his first reaction to pull whatever was under his arm closer to snuggle and go back to sleep. When he realized that what happened to be under his arm was a person- Well, needless to say he panicked. When he realized that he wasn't even in his own hotel room (his bags were missing and he sure as hell hadn't left any music playing) his panic grew worse. Carefully sitting up so as not to disturb his bed partner, Alfred took stock of the situation. He'd never been happier to find he was still wearing his boxers, the same for Arthur who was sprawled across the bed. Thank goodness. Nothing had actually happened.

With that taken care of he relaxed quickly and went to sort through the bathroom. A drink of water for himself, one left on the nightstand for Arthur, and Alfred ran into another dilemma. He wanted to get out of there before Arthur woke up irritated (because knowing this guy, he would, especially if affected by the drinks they'd had) but he also wanted to see him again… An idea struck him. It seemed like a great idea! He rummaged through the pockets of the pants he'd worn the night before and found a permanent marker, carefully stepping over to Arthur who was just as shirtless as he was. Sitting gently on the edge of the bed, Alfred tried to write out a message on Arthur's stomach, almost finished when someone grabbed his wrist. He froze.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Poor Arthur sounded like he'd been gargling gravel, and Alfred slowly turned to look at his face to find he didn't look any happier than someone might've been if they'd done just that. "Uhh…"

Of all the times to wake up to a shirtless man who obviously took care of himself (even if there was some pudge on his stomach… But Arthur didn't mind that either) that shirtless idiot had to be writing on him like some frat boy! Arthur's eyes narrowed as Alfred attempted to draw a smiley face beside the rest, as if that would fix the problem. "You do know that a university reunion doesn't actually mean you have to act like you're still at school?"

"Yeah- I just- I wanted to go but I couldn't find any paper…"

He took careful stock of the sheepish expression before Arthur actually tried to take a look at what was written. 'Coffee sometime? 555-555-5555 -Alf' and then a scribble from where Arthur had grabbed his hand. "Of all the… You're a right idiot. Did you even think to check the bedside table for paper? What even makes a person think that someone's stomach makes a better notepad than looking for paper?"

Alfred was feeling a little hopeful. Well, Arthur didn't hate him. He reached over, handing him the water and capping his marker. "Dunno… I'm just tired, I guess."

"Well you don't go writing on people's stomachs. But thank you," he muttered, quieting as he sipped his water, wishing away the pain in his head. Nothing too terrible, but enough to be a bother.

There was an awkward silence as they both just sat there, Alfred glancing over to Arthur and Arthur staunchly ignoring him for the moment as he stared at the writing, wondering how to get it off. "If you'd like to go to breakfast… Well, we both need to eat so there isn't any reason to eat alone, I suppose."

Alfred grinned and scrambled to get dressed.

Maybe they weren't going to be so lonely after all.


	26. February 26

**AUTHOR:** cantharidindeath

**February 26th, 2014**

When NFL quarterback Alfred F. Jones had joined _Dancing with the Stars_, he'd done it because his agent had told him the publicity would help him. He hadn't done it to meet the most gorgeous person on the fucking planet and fall in love with one of the 'nobody' dance instructors—after all, he was a gay guy being paired with a girl. There was supposed to be no way he was going to fall for anyone there.

Especially not world-famous fashion model _Francoise Bonnefoy's_ dance instructor Arthur Kirkland.

"It just _isn't fair!_" Groaning, Alfred placed his head into his hands, ignoring Madeleine as she tentatively patted his head with a chuckle. "How come _Bonnefoy_ gets to rub her hands all over Arthur while I'm stuck with you—no offense, Maddie. But seriously, _how did this happen?_"

"None taken," his Canadian partner replied, although the tone of voice suggested the unintentional slight was going to be the root of a three hour rant in the future. "As for how it happened, well, we were being introduced to our partners on initiation day when you allegedly landed eyes on 'the hottest—'"

"It was a rhetorical question!" Jumping to his feet, the American sighed. "Well, all this moping is bringing the hero down. How about we practice that big spin again?"

"If it's any consolation, I heard him call her 'frog' repeatedly in the cafeteria today," Madeleine commented, standing and taking Alfred's hand in silent reply. The American leaned over and pressed 'play' on the CD player before dragging his partner to the center of the practice floor. "Alright, so I'm going to twist my leg around yours and you're going to kick yours out slowly, all while on tiptoe."

"…I think this is more dangerous than football," Alfred muttered, wincing when Madeleine elbowed him as he missed his cue. Involuntarily, his leg kicked out, the Canadian's twisted around it.

"YOU UTTER BASTARD!" Letting out a high pitched scream, the girl fell gracelessly to the floor. Alfred's 'hero instincts' overtook him and he knelt beside her quickly.

"Maddie! Are you okay?!"

"No, I am _not_ fucking okay!" Madeleine attempted to pull in her knee and let out a slow hiss of pain. "Torn hamstring. _Crap._"

"Are you going to—"

"If you legitimately ask that question, I'm stuffing that CD up your butt—_no, _I cannot dance anymore. Go call the medic, would you?!"

* * *

"See, this leaves us in a bit of a predicament."

The producer twisted his cigar in his fingers, letting ash fall to the ground as he lazily blew a smoke ring. Madeleine had been sent off in a limousine earlier, flashing a sad smile and (for some reason) a knowing wink as she left.

"I don't see why. I mean, you've eliminated injured pairs before. They just don't eliminate anyone that week, right?"

"That's what would typically happen, yes," he replied with a sigh. "However, Francoise Bonnefoy happened to get injured today as well, and won't be competing. Originally we were planning to eliminate her and Arthur Kirkland, but now that you're out for the count as well…"

"…So, only one couple—essentially two people—can be out every episode?"

"Yes, but both Ms. Williams and Ms. Bonnefoy are out, and that fills the quota of 'a couple' being booted, despite the fact that it's unconventional. So now that we've got two people out I don't think we can afford to get rid of you and Mr. Kirkland without losing viewers, either by shortening the season or not including enough drama…"

And suddenly, the producer was grinning. "Say, you're the gay football player, aren't you?"

"Uh…yeah…" Alfred gave the producer a raised eyebrow, backing away slightly. "Um, why're you looking at me like that—"

* * *

"This is complete and utter shit."

"_Well, I always heard that the first step to solving a problem was to approach it calmly and rationally. Unfortunately, we've already missed that step. So you're screwed._"

"Thi—I just—"

"_It'll be fine, Alfred,_" chuckled Madeleine. Alfred heard a thick French accent from Madeleine's bedside in the hospital, and the Canadian responded in turn before talking into the phone again. "_It's just dancing…with Arthur._"

"I just know it's all going to go to hell and I'm going to mess up! You gotta help me escape or something!" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "If the producer was worried about losing viewers, adding a _guy-guy couple_ with _confirmed gay guys_ was not the way to go!"

"_The world's become more accepting—you'd be surprised how many people are rooting for you. People were freaking out that you'd be eliminated when they saw me. Believe me, if they had a problem with you, they've already said it six months ago when you first came out._" More French exchange, littered with static, took place on the other end of the phone. "_Hang on, Francoise wants to talk to you._"

"Maaaaaddiiiiiiie!" Drawing out the vowels, Alfred groaned. "You know what I think of her—"

"_As much as I do not _care," came the thick layered tone that could only come from high-end Paris, "_I will tell you that you have been at the center of many things Arthur has said in the past weeks, both good and bad. Interpret that how you will._"

The line shut down, cutting off a stern reprimand from Maddie, and it was then that Alfred became aware of a tapping foot on the other end of the practice room.

Soft golden hair and deep green eyes. _Shit._

"Glad to see you back on this end of the cell phone, Jones," he sighed, and British accent and melodic voice and _what the fuck was he doing with his life?!_ "Now, if you'd please, put the CD in, get your arse over here, and put your hand on my waist." There was a pause, where both tinged slightly red. "Sometime today, preferably!"

This was going to be a long season.


	27. February 27 (Floater)

**AUTHOR:** Ellarose C

**February 27th, 2014 - Floater**

"Amy, I've got your triple venti hazelnut white mocha with no whip!"

"Oh, that's me!" A girl with a pink striped hat and blonde curls escaping from underneath it jumped up from a table in Victoria's sight. She bounced up to the bar and took her cup. "Thanks!"

"Not a problem." Victoria gave her a quick smile, hands automatically steaming milk for the next drink in line. Matt, the other person at the bar this shift, pumped syrup into the cup and stuck it under the espresso spout.

Amy fiddled with the cup's sleeve and bit her lip. "Hey, think I could ask you something, girl to girl?"

Oh, God, no. "You can ask, but I won't promise an answer." Victoria smiled to show good intent, and Amy beamed back before pushing a slip of paper across the bar.

"Think you could, uh, give this to the cute guy with the accent who took my order?"

Victoria blinked and glanced towards the pastry case, where her other co-worker Arthur was on his toes to take some frazzled woman's order as she juggled a baby and a toddler. "You mean Arthur?"

Amy followed her eyes and nodded her head frantically. "Yeah, that one! You said his name's Arthur?"

Victoria bit her cheek against her grin. "Yep, Arthur. If you want to get on his nerves you can call him Artie." Amy giggled as Victoria reached over to palm the paper - her receipt, by the texture. Victoria could feel Matt rolling his eyes next to her, but she ignored him as she stuck it into her apron pocket. "No problem, I'll see he gets it."

"Great! Awesome! Love ya so much!" Amy blew her a kiss and flounced away and out the door, cheeks red under her scarf as she mouthed 'Arthur' under her breath. Victoria watched her go and, as soon as the door was closed behind her, broke down into giggles.

"Shut up, Vic, your shot's gonna expire." Victoria stuck her tongue out at a very disgruntled Matt and poured her steamed milk into the cup.

"Oh, man, I can't wait to see the look on Arthur's face!" Her shoulders were still shaking as she put a dollop of foam on top and slipped a sleeve on, pushing the top down as she called out for Greg to come get his grande dirty chai with no water. Matt slid the next pitcher down the counter, still frowning. She nudged him with her shoulder. "Ah, quit moping, Mattie boy. You get the girls for being tall and handsome, and he gets them for having a cute accent and calling them 'love'. It's a fair trade."

Matt sneered at her, but dropped the subject until the line of cups was gone and Victoria could break away from the bar.

"Hey, Arthur, I got you a present!"


	28. February 28 (My Sassy Brit)

**AUTHOR:** Zeplerfer

**February 28th, 2014 - My Sassy Brit**

It was long past midnight and the subway platform was nearly empty. The recorded message crackled and announced the impending arrival of the last train of the night.

"Finally," Alfred muttered to himself. He stepped closer to the tracks, gaze shifting to the left as a sudden movement caught his eye. A drunk blond man stood not too far away, swaying dangerously near the edge of the platform. Alfred sprinted over, like the hero he was, and pulled the man back to safety. "Whoa dude! Be careful!" he said as the train whizzed past, filling the space where the drunk had been not a moment before.

Still swaying, the drunk turned to look at him with unfocused green eyes. "You!" he gasped. Then his eyes narrowed and he spat out the word again with venom. "_You_."

"Um, you're welcome?" Alfred said, feeling like he really ought to be getting a medal of some sort in thanks, instead of an angry scowl. The other passengers were already loading onto the train, so Alfred quickly followed through the open doors, plopping down on a seat. The drunk followed, stumbling his way into the seat next to Alfred's.

"What are _you_ doing here?" the blond slurred in a English accent, jabbing his finger against Alfred's shoulder.

"Uh, going home?" Alfred said as he gently pushed the drunk away. This was definitely not the accolades he had hoped for. The man stunk of rum and his hair was tousled, but he didn't seem to be homeless judging by his expensive coat.

"You said you were leaving. You left… you left me…" The man started sniffling and suddenly tried to bury his face into Alfred's jacket.

Alfred, with the advantages of quick reflexes and sobriety, managed to jump out of his seat before the drunk man could start sniveling into his jacket. "What the hell!" he yelled. The few other passengers looked up in surprise. "Look, I don't know who you are. Stop bothering me," Alfred said loudly, hoping to get the man to leave him alone and also hoping to explain himself to the other passengers who were starting to give them both strange looks.

The drunk's scowl was back. "We dated for a year, and you want to pretend you don't know me?"

Alfred flushed as the other passengers looked at him. "No, we didn't! I have no idea who this crazy guy is!" The subway car pulled to a stop—Alfred's stop. Now was his chance to make his escape. He slipped through the doors and hoped that the drunk wasn't fast enough to follow. He turned around as the doors closed to see the drunk staggering towards him again. Damn.

"This… this isn't your stop…" the drunk blond managed to say, for a moment looking so confused that Alfred felt bad for yelling at him earlier. The man stumbled forward and fell to his knees, barely managing to catch himself with his hands.

Alfred knelt next to him, a worried look on his face. "Look, do you have friends I can call to come take care of you?" he asked.

"Please, Matthew."

Before Alfred could ask him who Matthew was, a subway attendant yelled at them from the turnstiles. "Come on, it's closing time! Get your drunk friend out of here so I can go home."

"He's not my friend," Alfred grumbled, but he slung the drunk's arm around his shoulders and helped him out of the station anyway. As they stood on the escalator, Alfred felt like he was holding up more and more of the other man's weight. The drunk was a skinny guy and Alfred was strong, so the weight itself wasn't a problem, but Alfred needed him to stay conscious to give him Matthew's number. "Come on dude, stay with me," he said as he half-carried him to a bench just outside the subway exit.

By that point, it seemed that the drunk had forgotten his address, his name, and the phone number of any of his friends. Even the mysterious Matthew.

Alfred cursed his bad luck and his conscience. There was no way he could leave an insensible drunk on the street without making some effort to help him get home. He apologized as he patted down the drunk's pockets, hoping to find a cell phone so he could call someone and make the drunk someone else's problem. Instead of a phone, he found a wallet, which he opened up. The first card was a English driving licence, giving him a name, Arthur Kirkland, and a London address. The rest of the wallet contained some cash, credit cards, and even a library card, but no local address.

"Damn." Alfred pulled out his own phone and thought about his options. He could call a taxi, though he had no destination for the cabbie. He could call an ambulance, but Arthur just needed a good night's sleep, not medical care. Or he could always leave him on the street, except that he knew that someone less honest would come by and steal his wallet and maybe the nice coat. Alfred sighed, knowing that as a hero, he had only one real option. At least he had a spare couch and his apartment was only two blocks away. He lifted Arthur onto his back and carried him home.


End file.
